The ignorance of memorys
by Vicky Ishida
Summary: A mysterious girl has apperaed in Mirkwood haveing suffered much torment from unseen attackers. Doubts are alive once more in Middle Earth as to the likely hood of war, but this time, not a Hobbit, but an elf shall carry the burden, and it's far more prec


Untitled 

Chapter one:

The Lady of the forest.

Note:

Just re read the book and watched the movie trailer! Two words: LOVE IT! But I've decided to do this story focusing on after the ring is destroyed, or is it? What really happened to Smeagol? This has allot to do with Legolas seeing as he's my favourite.

I don't own any of the books or their characters and sadly the man that did own them is dead, but I think it's a tribute to him that his spirit lives on in his books and that people still want to continue that story.

So here it is, please review it, I love to hear peoples comments!

The night air was bitter and bit into the fair faces of the elves as they walked the paths of Mirkwood, pinching their cheeks and rubbing their hands together, deeply buried as they were in thick fur gloves. The winter was a harsh one this year, and the evidence of this was all around them. The grass stood to attention like the guards of a regiment, stiffened with frost and pale grey in the night light, waiting for the morning to come when they would glisten with crystal drops of dew. Leaves in the elves path were trampled down in the grass, their browns and gold's crushed together and finally frozen into shape to form little clusters of colour in the silver grey grass. The sound of falling water from a not far distant stream, usually so refreshing in the summer, now sounded harsh and made them think only more longingly of the warmth of the mighty halls in Mirkwood where fires would be burning brightly.

Only one of the fifteen assembled there, did not think with such longing of home. Legolas, the elf prince, had endured far worse, and thought little of his bed, but kept a sharp watch as they wandered through the wood.

Although enemies were few and far between since the destruction of the ring, it was never safe to become comfortable and relax, so the watches were kept up nightly. Groups of soldiers and bow man from the halls of Mirkwood, were sent forth to make sure the presence of an Ork band that had, maybe, wandered down from the mountains, or a pack or Wargs roaming far from home, were not made welcome.

But that night there seemed to be nothing in the forest, not even the usual animal sounds; an owl screaming his warning to the small creatures, the smash of bracken as a deer broke through, the snufflings and scuttlings of a badger as he went about his nightly business. Nothing was to be heard. Everything was so silent and still, it was as though even the very trees hardly dared to breath the air was so cold.

Which was why it suprised the fifteen so much when the screaming started.

It was not the sound of an owl, nor of any wild beast, but perfectly human, and as though of somebody in great pain or peril.

With a quick word in elvish to his men, Legolas set out three bands of his men, himself in the lead one, to find out where the sound came from.

Venturing forward he pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back and made ready his bow: the scream had sounded close at hand and he wanted to be ready immediately if there was any danger.

They were moving towards the source of the sound and found themselves at the edge of a ring of trees, blocking the view inward. Here was where the stream ran and the sound of falling water was louder than ever, but the screaming had stopped.

Slowly and carefully, Legolas stepped forward and, with his keen eyes, peered into the little glen. The stream ran, as ever, down a wall of rock on the far side of the glen, finishing in a deep pool that filled about a quarter of the space. Reeds grew up around it edges, tall and brown, and before these stood a girl, ageless as all of the elven folk of which she clearly was.

Her face was buried in her hands, her bare shoulders hunched up high as though in pain and strands of wild black hair hung in straggling waves around her hands. Those hands, blue with the cold, looked stiff, almost stuck in place. The dress that she wore must once have been fine and beautiful, but now the skirts hung in shreds and the shoulders had all but disappeared, hanging on by one week thread. But still she held herself with grace, as a lady of court might.

Quickly lowering his bow, Legolas beckoned to the rest of his men and ran towards her. Hearing their approaching foot falls she looked up and he could see her face was marked by the channels of many tears, but she did not look afraid. If anything she looked defiant and the piercing oceanic blue of her eyes shot suspicion round at all of the elves, but mostly at himself. She drew back a step as he reached her and halted.

Who are you? she shot, bitterness and mistrust ringing in her voice.

The other elves had begun to move a little closer round Legolas now and they all stared at her. Legolas himself was captivated by her beauty, even in this dishevelled state with leaves and pieces of brush stuck in her hair and the scratches of many thorns scaring her arms, she was still a picture of loveliness, only spoiled by the anger of her face.

Who are you? she repeated, the impatience growing in her voice.

We are the elves of Mirkwood, we mean you no harm my lady, he stepped forward and again, she drew herself away from him. He waited for her to reply, but she made no move to speak so finally he began again, May I ask your name and your business out here on such a dark night?

She hesitated, not as though unsure if she should tell them, more as if, she was trying to think back. Her face fought a valiant battle for a moment, trying to come up with a way from stopping the tears that were clearly immanent, but she lost and they quickly came again, running down her cheeks.

Finally she managed to speak:

I don't know, she spoke almost in a whisper, I can't remember.


End file.
